


Moon

by sasswolf



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Injury, Male Solo, Marauders, Marauders era, Masturbation, Other, Pain, a little wolfstar if you squint REALLY hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 09:31:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8744986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasswolf/pseuds/sasswolf
Summary: Remus has had a particularly rough transformation that left him in the hospital wing with his worst injuries yet. In an effort to dull the pain, forget the trauma, and urge his tired body to relax, he indulges in some much-needed self-love.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I started this during the summer and just never got around to finishing it off. My goal when writing this was to really go hardcore into describing the sensations associated with pain and exhaustion, especially in the context of chronic illness, and then, of course, the psychology of the experience. As someone who suffers from fibromyalgia, I imagine a werewolf such as Remus must experience something similar: like maybe the full moon could be like something that triggers a flare-up in fibro patients or something. Idk, all I know is that I love Remus and that I enjoyed writing this, so I hope that you enjoy it, too!

It had been a rough one.

Not to say that every other full moon wasn't torture, wasn't painful, wasn't exhausting and traumatic as no other boy his age could imagine experiencing for himself.

That being said, however, last night was definitely one of the worst. 

And he could still feel it now. In the way that every muscle ached to the bone, how every inch of his body felt like lead, and how every breath was excruciating to the point where he almost wanted to just stop breathing all together.

_"Okay, let's not get that dramatic, Lupin."_ he thought to himself as he laid in his hospital bed, wrapped in the sheets that Madam Pomfrey so carefully tucked around him before she left him to himself. Even these sheets, though exceedingly soft and light, made his skin prickle. It was as if every nerve was in overdrive, his body still on edge from being relentlessly twisted and transformed all at once in only a few short violent moments of agony under the merciless light of the moon. And then, as the autumn nights were becoming longer and longer, he was forced to remain this monster for hours and hours on end. If it weren't for his friends, those boys who were able to occupy him and to stop him from turning on himself, who knows what Madam Pomfrey would find in the morning? Sure, he had spent many long nights on his own before he had their company, but as his pubescent body grew with the years, so did the Wolf. He had never thought about it until now, he never had to. It wasn't until his friends lost control of him, until the Wolf finally had the chance to turn on him, that he ever had a reason to.

Last night, when the dawn was mere minutes away at most, they had let their guard down. They had returned to the shack a little early (Perhaps they had underestimated how long the nights were becoming?) and as they waited for dawn, the Wolf became restless. Remus can't remember why, can't remember what got the Wolf so anxious, but that doesn't really matter now. What matters is that, without warning, he went for himself, claws as deep as he could get them, straight into the inside of his right thigh and up and over across his navel. If it wasn't for Sirius' quick intervention, a tackle and a hard bite to the wrist, Remus surely would have gutted himself.

_"No, that wasn't me._ The Wolf _, it was_ him _."_ he corrected the thought quickly.

The other boys, of course, panicked. As soon as Remus had become himself again, they had crowded around him, pressing some fabric against his profusely bleeding wounds (Was it the bedsheet? Or maybe Prongs' shirt? He couldn't remember. It turned instantly unrecognizable as it became soaked with blood, anyway.) and talking to each other in anxious voices.

"Merlin, Moons, can you hear me?!" he had heard Sirius' voice shout as if from a distance. His own voice didn't seem to be working, though, as he struggled to suppress a scream. It really did hurt, you know, having a werewolf try and claw out your insides. As his vision faded in and out, the worried faces of Sirius, James, and Peter a blur, he supposed that this must be somewhat like what Japanese samurai must have felt when committing harakiri. Only he hoped that the blades that they used were sharper than his...no... _its_ , claws.

"Should I go and get Madam Pomfrey?" he heard the high pitch of Peter's nervous voice call out.

"No!" Remus almost choked, the effort of speaking was so painful that he nearly retched. He tried to steady his breathing, his head swimming. "N-no, you lot would be in so much trouble if they found out you were with me. No, just...she'll be here soo-" His words broke off as he wreathed, a wave of pain shooting through his body. James was doing his best to hold him down to the bed.

"Rem, are you bloody insane?! You're going to bleed out before she even gets to the Willow!" Sirius shouted. Through his clouded vision, Remus thought that he might have seen a glimmer of tears on his cheeks. Guilt washed over him, churning his stomach even more.

With an enormous effort, he took the rag out of his friends' hands and held it himself. Taking as deep of a breath as he could manage, he finally spoke. "Check the map and see how close she is. If you can get outside of the tunnel before she gets there" he paused to breathe painfully again, "you can transform or use the cloak and get inside before anyone catches you." He finished, managing to stifle a moan in his throat. He didn't know what would happen, but dammit all if he was going to let his friends stay here and watch him bleed to death right in front of them. 

The other boys were still. Sirius didn't look like he had any intention of moving. James appeared to be entirely unsure of what he should be doing and Peter, slowly and with shaking hands, took out the map, unfolded it, and said "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." with a small, quavering voice.

"She's nearly out of the castle now. If we leave right now, we might be able to get out before she finishes walking across the grounds...." he said after scanning the map for a moment.

"Fuck off, Wormtail!" Sirius growled. "We're not going anywhere, right Prongs?" he turned towards James, who was still frozen with his hands on Remus.

After a moment, without looking at Sirius, he said to him, "She can help him better than we can, Pads. We should go." He gave one last fearful look towards his sandy-haired friend before taking his hands off of him and turning to take the map from Peter.

Before Sirius had a chance to argue, Remus shot him a stern look. It was the kind of look that, just by ferocity in the boy's eyes, the little bit of lingering wolf, Sirius was reminded that his friend was, at least once a month, an extremely capable killer. There was no arguing with that look. 

Sirius didn't struggle when Peter pulled him away and, looking back fretfully, he allowed himself to be lead out of the room.

It was an agonizing few minutes before Madam Pomfrey arrived. Luckily. Remus couldn't remember much of it, couldn't remember the surely terrified reaction of the nurse when she discovered him, bare, bloody and barely conscious.

So there he was, on this chilly October morning, reaping the consequences of his lupine curse. With an effort, Remus turned his stiff and tired neck to look towards the drawn curtains around his bed. He had heard the door close firmly behind Madam Pomfrey as she left just a few minutes earlier and he was certain that he was the only one around. He was all alone. 

_"Good."_

He needed to be alone. It was good to have the opportunity every once in a while, especially when you shared a dorm room. Potions can only do so much when your entire body feels like it's been ripped apart and sewn back together again. When the throbbing muscle in your head, despite medicine's best efforts, just won't relax.

He needed to relax. He needed something to take the pain away for just a moment, or at least distract him from it. Then he might even be able to sleep. Merlin, wouldn't it be nice to just _sleep_.

So with another long listen, he carefully lifted his aching arm and slipped his hand under the waistband of his pajama bottoms and briefs, trying his best to avoid putting weight onto his wounds. It was a tricky business, though, and he let out a quiet hiss as he accidentally brushed his dressings with the underside of his forearm.

"Dammit...." he couldn't help but whisper as his entire body tensed at the painful contact. Letting out a deep breathe, he tried again, this time angling his arm and stretching his waistband enough so that he was hovering at least a good inch above his injury. He was already exhausted and he cursed the fact that this position was probably going to tire his arm out rather quickly. It also made his waistband dig painfully into his injured wrist. Nonetheless, he persisted on, now just slightly trailing his fingers downwards, almost as if testing his arousal. It was always hit or miss when it came to this; sometimes his body was just too absorbed in the pain and exhaustion to want to get off.

But this time he felt it: the sudden, slight tension in the pit of his stomach, how his heartbeat was starting to quicken with the stimulation. So he kept going, bringing his hand down further this time to gently tease his member. While doing this he quickly realized that he would have to be particularly careful to avoid bumping his hand into his injured thigh as well. Nothing could ever be simple for him, could it? Not even a bloody wank.

He soon began to forget his frustration, however, as his arousal continued to grow with each touch. The tension that was building in his groin was starting to eclipse the tension in the rest of his sore body and the lingering pain was being pushed out into the peripherals of his mind. He focused on the feeling of his hand and the sweet friction it gave him instead of the thoughts that had plagued him with guilt and worry. Soon he forgot all about the snapshots of last night's terror that had been unrelentingly flashing through his mind, like the feeling of snapping bone, the insatiable blood lust, and the image of Sirius' tear-stained face.

Gripping himself properly now, he attempted to adjust himself into a more reachable position. It was precarious, and he couldn't quite reach low enough to cup himself like he so wanted to without irritating his injuries, so he settled for rubbing the tip of his member in a wide, circular motion with his palm. His arm was getting increasingly tired and this way required a little less effort. His palm gradually became slick with precum, just enough at least to make things a little easier. He was able to quicken his pace, trying to ignore the shooting pain in his wrist, and finally that familiar sensation, like a spring coiling, preparing to snap, began to fill his senses.

He focused hard on the feeling, his mind set on that one goal, as he tried his best to clench his tired muscles in an attempt to produce even more pleasure. He was surprised to find the effort slightly painful, and even more surprised that this pain did nothing to slow his race towards the edge. If anything, he was reaching there even faster.

Finally, turning his head to the side to bite his pillow (He honestly couldn't tell what this sound that was trying to escape his throat was: was it from the pain? Or the pleasure?) his body suddenly tensed and then began to jerk with each wave of intense sensation that shot through his body. His heart was racing. It definitely felt good, surprisingly amazing even, yet at the same time he could feel his body protesting every spasm. He hoped he hadn't reopened anything.

It was a surprising length of time before he felt his muscles relax, his toes uncurl, and his hips and legs slowly fall back into the mattress. This was it: exactly what he had been dying for. His heart rate was slowing, his muscles were so utterly relaxed, and he felt as though he might just sink through the bed onto the floor. His mind was also shutting down, the buzzing getting quieter and quieter, slowly fading to black. There was a brief moment when he heard the door open and then the familiar voices of a few certain people approaching while speaking in excited whispers before, with a last great effort, Remus extracted his hand from his trousers, adjusted himself into what he hoped was a thoroughly innocent position, and fell into what must have been the deepest sleep that he had ever had.


End file.
